


The Curves of Your Lips Rewrite History

by agetwellcard



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Peggy Carter, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky and Steve live, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The First Avenger, Captain America: The First Avenger, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eventual Smut, Gay Bucky Barnes, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-World War II, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 21:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8864386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agetwellcard/pseuds/agetwellcard
Summary: After Steve's wedding, Bucky kisses Steve and everything changes. (AU in which Steve and Bucky survive the war. Steve marries Peggy, and Bucky has to deal with his feelings for Steve.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been working on this fic for what feels like forever. It was originally supposed to be an angsty one-shot about Bucky kissing Steve at his wedding, but it turned into this monstrosity. I really love it, though, and I couldn't help myself with the Peggy/Angie. 
> 
> I decided to post it in three chapters so it's not 17k of fic on one page. 
> 
> Also, title and quote from Oscar Wilde's 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'.

#  _**“The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history.” - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray** _

 

Steve proposes to Peggy the day the war ends.

He doesn’t have a ring, and he doesn’t even tell Bucky before he does it, but Bucky is only a couple feet away when he drops to his knee in front of her in a pub in London. After Peggy says yes, Bucky clinks his drink into Steve’s when the whole bar cheers.

After that, arrangements are made so furiously that Bucky is barely kept in the know about it. One day they’re in London, and the next, they’re on their way back to Brooklyn. It only hits Bucky that he really is back home when Steve is standing in the doorway of their old apartment, eyes wide with shock.

Bucky drops his duffle on the ground and takes in the apartment. It smells awful, worse than Bucky ever remembers and everything is covered with dust, but it’s still home. They wordlessly walk through the small area together, and Bucky drags his finger across the old, tiny table they have next to the stove. One of Steve’s sketchbooks is still sitting on it, a stub of a pencil beside it. Bucky desperately wants to look through it, for all the drawings he missed while he was away, but holds off.

The couch in the living room is as ratty as Bucky remembers it, but he can’t help but to collapse into it, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of it.

“Jesus, Stevie, never thought I’d be back in this room,” he confesses, tone light for the statement.

Steve makes a noise in agreement, and when Bucky opens his eyes again, Steve is standing awkwardly in front of him, a deep crease between his eyes.

“It’s not right seeing you here,” Bucky says then, to which Steve squints at him in confusion. “Fucking strange seeing you – the _new_ you – back here. Last time we were here you weren’t even ninety pounds, I swear.”

“I was _ninety-five_ pounds, you jerk,” Steve says, quirking a smile at Bucky.

Bucky smiles back at him. “Probably won’t even be able sleep in the same bed anymore.”

“Won’t be a big issue for long,” Steve says casually.

“You planning on buying a new bed with all that army money?”

Steve shakes his head, still smiling. “Probably not, seeing as I’ll be in moving in with Peggy once we get hitched.”

“Right,” Bucky says. There’s a sinking feeling at the realization. Steve will move out and leave Bucky behind.

“It’s no big deal, though,” Steve says quickly, obviously sensing Bucky’s disappointment. “I’ll take the couch until the big day.”

Bucky feels a little stupid when he hears it. They didn’t have the money for a second mattress, and it was always easier sharing bed, especially during the winter when Bucky could keep Steve warm, their bodies pulled close in the chilly nights. Of course they won’t share a bed.

“Don’t even think about it, Rogers,” Bucky tells him. “I’m taking the couch, and I don’t want to hear any arguments about it.”

Steve cocks his hips at him, already gearing up for an argument.

Bucky lies down into the couch, kicking up his legs on the cushions. “Might just fall asleep right now.”

Giving him a soft smile, Steve doesn’t say anything else about it. Bucky bets he’s already planning on how he’ll get Bucky into the bed. For now, he claps his hands together and goes, “How about we go get some lunch at the diner? I wanna know what it’s like to actually finish my meal there and not have you steal all my leftovers.”

***

Somehow, Bucky manages to convince Steve to go out drinking with him as some sort of last-ditch effort at a bachelor party.

Steve can’t get drunk, but Bucky sure can. He wastes no time, either, ordering himself the cheapest drink they have (by habit) and nearly knocking the whole thing down in one go when he gets it. Steve looks on, a fond smile on his face, only sipping at his beer for appearances.

“You should really just order water,” Bucky tells him sagely. “If it’s all the same.”

“I like the taste,” Steve tells him, shrugging.

Bucky snorts when he hears this. “You fucking liar. This stuff is shit, and always has been.”

“I know,” Steve tells him, smiling shyly into his drink. “It’s nice, though. Reminds me of before the war. Just the two of us.”

This catches Bucky off-guard. The sincerity in Steve’s voice makes him look down to his own drink, a blush creeping up his neck at the words. “You big sap,” Bucky hums. He resolutely doesn’t think about how it’s not just the two of them anymore, and maybe it never was before, either.

When Bucky looks back over to Steve, to see him still smiling, his world feels a little like it’s been tipped over. He’s still getting used to seeing Steve back in places they used to go. It doesn’t feel like that long ago that Steve was smaller than he was, and now they’ve somehow survived the war to make it back to this shitty bar. The beer might taste the same, but everything is different.

“Can you believe it’s already tomorrow?” Steve muses.

Bucky shakes his head. He really can’t. “Your last free night out on the town, pal.”

“I don’t even think of it that way. Peggy’s…” Steve trails off, and Bucky is expecting a flowery speech on how much he loves her, and he braces for it as best as he can. Steve, though, only shrugs again, a dreamy look on his face when he murmurs, “She’s just great, Buck.”

The sting Bucky feels is so uncalled for and unwanted that Bucky slaps Steve on the shoulder with a big grin and goes, “I’m happy for you.” It helps swallow down the pain of something that was never his to have in the first place.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, looking up with concern on his face. He’s genuinely waiting for Bucky’s reply.

Bucky nods. “Of course.”

This makes Steve smile again and take a big drink of his beer. Bucky follows, finishing his and ordering another before Steve casually goes, “It’ll be you too soon enough.”

“Huh?”

“It won’t be long until you find your own dame and get married, too.”

Bucky tries not to snort again. “The last thing I need is a marriage,” he tells Steve.

Steve being Steve somehow picks up on the traces of sadness in Bucky’s tone and gives him a worried look. “Why not?”

“You think any dame could ever pin me down?” he quips, using that charming voice that always irritated Steve.

“Think most of the ladies in this bar right now would want to try,” Steve tells him, clearly unimpressed by Bucky’s act. “They’re all staring at you just like before.”

He doesn’t even need to look around to know that they’re all actually staring at Steve. The second they had walked in, all the eyes had fallen on Steve. He would tell Steve that he’s wrong, but he knows he’ll only deny it and try to console Bucky like he’s actually wounded by the loss of attention. The truth is, Steve could have any of the dames in this bar. Bucky used to be able to do that, but now he thinks that it’s unlikely he could even get a few.

“I’d like to see them try,” Bucky finally says, putting on a devilish smirk. It’s what he would’ve done before the war.

Steve shakes his head, smiling. “I bet you would.”

Things feel a little stilted after that, like Steve knows Bucky’s pretending (which he probably does) but they still manage to have a good night, and Bucky plays it up for Steve’s sake. Bucky drinks and drinks, but he can barely even feel a buzz. It’s scares him so much that he has to excuse himself to use the bathroom just so he can stare at himself in the dirty mirror and try to make sense of what’s wrong with his body. He knows it must have something to do with that metal table he laid on for a few days, but he’s been trying so hard to forget about that. His hands grip the porcelain sink and he tries not to think of needles and scalpels and harsh German words he never understood.

When he gets back, visibly shaken, Steve gives him a strange look before standing from the stool he’s on and going, “We should get going. Have to be up early.”

Bucky sees it for what it truly is, but lets Steve play mother hen for the night. He even lets Steve throw an arm around his shoulders on the walk home, the two of them walking in companionable silence. When they get back to the apartment, Steve nearly forces Bucky to take the bed for the night no matter how much they argue. Bucky’s tired, though, and finally gives in.

Before he goes to bed, though, he watches as Steve methodically covers the couch with a sheet and unfolds the thick blanket they always used to use when he got sick.

“I don’t think I ever want to get married,” Bucky quietly admits.

Steve freezes his ministrations, slowly looking up to Bucky in the doorway of the bedroom. He feels unbelievably small under his gaze. Bucky is sure that Steve still remembers the two of them up late at night and whispering about their future weddings like it was so set in stone. Bucky’s not sure it could ever even happen anymore.

“Then you don’t have to, Buck,” Steve tells him slowly. “It doesn’t matter.”

There’s nothing pointed about the way he says it, either, but it still makes a stone set in Bucky’s stomach. It’s not what Bucky wants to say, but it’s what he can say. He hoped maybe it would be enough.

With a small smile, Bucky hums, “Thanks, Steve.”

***

The suit Bucky is wearing is scratchy, and a second-hand from his father’s. He’s been dead for years, but Bucky feels like he can still smell his thick aftershave on it. It’s ill fitted, too, the sleeves just a little too short. Bucky can afford a new suit, probably, but he didn’t buy a new one. He put on his father’s suit and that thin smile he wore around Steve lately and walked five blocks to the church.

Bucky’s never set foot inside of it, but Steve had been going for years before the war. He never asked Bucky to come with him, and Bucky never wanted to come, either. Bucky was never a religious fellow, and if he had been, the war would’ve sucked it all right out of him, anyways.

Steve, though, didn’t let the war steal his faith. Instead, he latched onto it and held his rosary as tightly as Bucky held his favorite gun. At night, Bucky remembers hearing the hollow way Steve would go through prayers. Since coming home, sometimes Bucky sits up at night unable to fall asleep, and almost thinks that he can still hear the careful rote in Steve’s words: “Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray…”

Now, Steve is nervously pacing outside the church as Bucky smokes a cigarette, still self-consciously blowing his smoke away from Steve like had to all those years ago. Old habits die hard; Bucky would know.

“This is crazy,” Steve mutters to himself. “This is – Jesus, Buck, I’m getting married. _Me_.”

Bucky smirks at him and concentrates on how the smoke feels in his lungs.

“And somehow before _you_ ,” Steve adds, shaking his head in disbelief. “I was always so sure I’d have to sit through your wedding worrying about how I was going to pay rent when you moved out.”

“What makes you think I would’ve moved out?” Bucky asks playfully. “Would’ve made you move out. Or, even better, moved my best girl in with us.”

Steve barks out a nervous laugh. “You would do something like that.”

Bucky drops his cigarette butt and stamps it out with the toe of his dress shoes. He had found them in the back of his closet, a spider in one of the heels. He almost forgot what it was like to wear normal shoes, and not the thick boots he had worn for so long.

Eventually, they get called in and Bucky claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You ready?” he asks.

A sickly sweet smile falls on his lips, like he’s thought about Peggy’s face in the sunlight or the sound of her laugh. He nods. “I think so.”

It’s not until Bucky is right beside Steve, hands nervously flexing at his sides, that he thinks that he’s not sure if he can really do this. Steve is getting married. It feels like the last thread between the two of them is being cut, and Steve is the one with the scissors in his hands. When Bucky conspicuously loosens the chokehold his tie has on his neck, he realizes his hands are shaking.

Every word seems to echo off the high ceiling, and when Steve goes through his vows, the choked noise he makes partway through sounds twice as heartbreaking as it should to Bucky. Bucky bows his head so he doesn’t have to look at the back of Steve’s head, his soft blond hair carefully slicked back or, even worse, at Peggy. Her lips are bright red and her dress soft and flowing, and she looks like a dream even in the harsh lighting of the church.

In sickness and in health seems like a joke, and Bucky has to keep himself from snorting when he first hears it. Peggy will never know sickness, not like Bucky had. She won’t ever know the first time Bucky thought Steve was going to die in that twin-size bed in their shitty apartment or the handful of times after that. She’ll never see Steve that way, and Bucky is happy she won’t have to, but part of him is angry that she gets to say “I do” to words that she won’t ever really understand, not the way Bucky understands them.

The rest of the wedding goes by in a dark mantra of _I don’t know if I can do this I don’t know I can do this I don’t know if_ –

“Sergeant?”

Bucky snaps his head over, to where Dugan is eyeing him curiously. The reception is going on around them, and Bucky is hidden in the corner, hands deep in his pockets. Dugan gives him another concerned once-over.

“You shouldn’t call me that anymore,” Bucky tells him. “War’s over.”

Dugan nods and then leans against the wall next to Bucky. He’s the only one of the commandos, besides Bucky, who could make it to the wedding. Steve had painstakingly tracked down all their addresses to send the telegrams, though.

“Sometimes it feels like it isn’t,” Dugan then says, voice quiet.

Bucky gives him a questioning glance.

“It feels like we’re on leave,” he explains. “And we’ll be back to another fucking foxhole by the end of the week.”

Bucky knows that feeling. Maybe it’s the nightmares that keep him up at night or the panic that fills his chest when there’s a particularly loud noise down the street. He wouldn’t ever tell Dugan about that, though. He does, however, nod at him, throat feeling closed off.

Across the room, Steve is twirling Peggy around, her white dress picking up from the floor and swaying gracefully with her. Bucky remembers trying to teach Steve how to dance one night years ago. There’s a phantom pain in his foot, like he can still feel the way Steve stepped on it over and over until they called it a night. Bucky could never quite teach him, and Steve could never quite get the moves down.

He’s a perfect dancer now.

Bucky knows he shouldn’t, but he kicks himself off from the wall and heads for the doors, not sparing the couple another look before he’s clattering outside, desperately breathing in the cool air. He wraps his jacket around himself and only makes it partway into the alleyway outside the church when he hears his name being called from behind him.

Down the road, Steve is briskly walking towards him, easily clearing feet in mere seconds. He doesn’t bend over, out of breath and wheezing like he used to. He only gives Bucky a hard look and goes, “Where are you going?”

“Just needed some air,” Bucky tells him lamely. It’s a weak excuse, but he figures Steve would be able to see through anything he says so he shouldn’t have to try to come up with something good.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says in a comforting tone. “It’s okay.”

He knows the mask is slipping, and that’s why Steve knows something is horribly wrong, but he can’t help but to put it back into place. The last thing he wants is Steve’s goddamn _compassion_ right now.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” he says, defeated.

Steve places a hand on his shoulder. “Just because I’m married doesn’t mean you’re not my best friend anymore, Bucky.”

The words somehow seem worse than anything Steve could’ve said.

Bucky shrugs Steve’s hand away and starts to walk away. “I can’t do this right now, Steve.”

He’s only walked a few steps when Steve is grabbing onto him, making him stay with his strong arms. Steve had never been able to stop Bucky before.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he says desperately. “You have to explain.”

They’re standing in a dank alleyway in Brooklyn, Steve strong and healthy and dressed in the nicest suit Bucky’s ever seen him in. He put a gold band on Peggy’s finger and kissed her in front of everyone and Bucky tried so hard to be supportive but he never thought he’d actually have to see his best friend choose someone else.

He’s not thinking (or maybe he is – and that’s the problem) when he grabs Steve by the lapels of his jacket and roughly pulls him forward. He covers Steve’s lips with his own, the same ones that had so sweetly kissed Peggy only a half hour ago. Bucky isn’t sure what he’s supposed to feel, but relief is flooding through him as he kisses deeper, hands fisted pathetically in the material of Steve’s shirt.

He’s nearly startled into pushing away when Steve kisses back. It’s so quick, though, the way he presses into Bucky one moment, and then is pushing away from him the next. Bucky’s hand easily fall from Steve’s shirt as he nearly stumbles to the ground from the force of Steve’s push.

“What the fuck, Bucky, why would you – ” He cuts himself off, mouth open and eyes hard.

Bucky stupidly takes a step back, shocked because of how mad Steve looks and how Steve’s lip had felt against this own.

Steve makes a choked noise, just like the one during his vows, and rubs his face. “You can’t do this to me,” he tells Bucky weakly.

He should apologize, he really should, but Bucky can’t get a word out.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve says now, voice strained. The front of his shirt is all mangled from Bucky’s nervous hands, and Bucky’s hands twitch to reach out and fix it for him. It’s wedding day for chrissake; he shouldn’t look that.

Finally, Bucky’s mouth works. All he can get out is, “I’m sorry,” just as he stumbles away, Steve not catching him as he goes this time. He retreats down the alleyway without looking back, which is a miracle in its own.

***

His apartment is unbearably quiet without Steve.

When he gets home, he stands in the doorway for at least ten minutes just looking over the apartment. All of Steve’s things are already gone, taken to his new place with Peggy this morning. It’s almost as bare as before, nearly looks the same too, but there’s something about the place that suddenly doesn’t feel like home. Bucky can’t even think about the two drawers in the dresser that are empty now, after Steve had purged all his old clothes, the ones so small they won’t even fit Bucky, let alone Steve.

Eventually, Bucky swings the door shut, not bothering to lock it, like he thinks Steve will slip into the apartment in the middle of the night. Bucky is too tired and angry at himself to even censor his thoughts. He collapses into his bed with his shoes still on and stares at the ceiling.

He’ll be lucky if Steve ever talks to him again. Bucky doesn’t understand how he’s made it this far, and it’s somehow now that he’s slipped up so horribly.

“His fucking _wedding_ _day_ , Barnes,” he angrily says to himself, rubbing his face. “Fucking idiot.”

The worst part of it all, though, is that all he can really think about is the feeling of Steve against him and his lips moving so sweetly over Bucky’s. He doesn’t think he’ll ever really forget that feeling.


	2. Chapter 2

He doesn’t leave his apartment for a few days.

He’s partly scared of running into Steve somehow since they’ve always managed to draw together like a pair of magnets. He doesn’t need to leave the apartment yet, either. He could last another month or so with the pay he’s got from the army and live fine without a job. He’s practically guaranteed a spot back at the docks, so he sits around the apartment either listening to the radio or reading old books. Mostly, he tries not to think of Steve.

It all comes crashing down when Peggy, of all people, comes knocking at his door.

When he answers, half expecting it to be Mrs. Clemons from downstairs asking him to turn down his radio, he’s dressed in an old pair of pajama pants with a hole in the crotch and a too small t-shirt covered in paint from when Steve used to borrow it. His hair is matted and unwashed, a beard growing in after a few days without a shave. He looks like a mess, and it’s only made worse with how put together and glowing Peggy looks.

She takes one look at Bucky and her lips fall into a hard line. “James,” she says stiffly.

For a second, Bucky is horrified that Steve told her. He’s cursing Steve’s unbearable code of morality and honesty when Peggy holds out a paperback book to him.

He stares at the offered object for a few seconds before he dumbly reaches out for it. It’s _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , the front cover nearly ripped off from use. It’s one of Bucky’s favorites. He didn’t even notice it missing.

“Steve said he accidently grabbed it whilst packing,” she explains, still standing in the doorway.

Bucky finally snaps to attention, moving out of the way so she can slip past him and into the dank living room. She stands with her hands at her sides, her dark brown curls done perfectly and red lips pursed at the scene.

“He didn’t want to bring it over himself,” she then says, a look of dismay on her face. “He tells me it’s nothing personal, but I’m not blind.”

Bucky stiffens, holding the book to his chest. With the way her eyes scan him, like she’s certain she knows what happened, scares him.

“I don’t know what happened between you two,” she tells him quietly, “but I want you to fix it.”

Steve didn’t tell her, clearly. He doesn’t know how Steve managed such a feat, considering he’s always been a horrible liar. Bucky is almost positive he didn’t, though, mostly because he hasn’t been punched in the face yet. He probably deserves it, though.

Bucky looks down and flips through the pages of the novel idly. There are passages underlined and paged dog-eared by the two of them. Bucky still remembers reading it to Steve for the first time, while he was recovering from the flu.

“I don’t know if I can,” Bucky finally admits reluctantly. He’s not sure how much she deserves to be in their business, but he’s sure he’s letting her in too deep with what he’s said.

Peggy doesn’t seem perturbed by this, though. She nods firmly and goes, “Then give him closure.”

It takes Bucky a few seconds to realize she’s suggesting their friendship has taken its course.

“I’ll apologize,” Bucky chokes out. He’s not sure if it will be enough, but he won’t let her be right. He won’t let everything go to waste just because he had one mess up.

Peggy gives him a small smile and turns on her heels to head for the door. With her hand on the door handle, she turns back, head cocked slightly. “And James,” she says. “Take a shower.”

***

Prospect Park is surprisingly busy for a Monday morning.

Bucky has his hands deep in his pocket as he walks down a path, the early morning weather just cold enough to make him wish he had grabbed a thicker jacket. The seasons are changing, but you can barely even tell in the city.

Scanning the area, Bucky’s eyes close in on a figure hunched over at one of the benches. He has a thick scarf wrapped around his neck and an even thicker jacket on, and seeing him all bundled up makes Bucky smile to himself a little. It only took Bucky years of lecturing him for Steve to actually learn to keep warm.

Slowly, he approaches Steve, stopping when he’s right in front of him, blocking the ray of sunshine that had been illuminating Steve’s sketchbook. Steve looks up, more surprised than angry. When he sees who it is, his lips pull down in a frown.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Bucky says, giving him a sheepish smile.

Up close, Bucky can see that Steve has on a pair of fingerless gloves, the ones he had determinedly cut up a few years back when he wanted to draw when it was cold. The hand that’s holding his pencil is lowered from the page, just barely covering a drawing of the scene in front of him.

Steve stares at him for a few long seconds before taking a big breath and going, “I don’t draw like I used to.”

“It’s still the same Brooklyn,” Bucky says, shrugging.

“It’s not Brooklyn that’s changed.”

Bucky gestures to the drawing. “It still looks good.”

Steve smiles up at him, the first genuine smile of Steve’s that Bucky’s seen in such a long time. He doesn’t say anything, but he does move over on the bench so that Bucky can sit down next to him.

Sitting down next to him, Bucky floods with relief. He hasn’t even apologized yet but he feels like the hard part is already over. Steve hasn’t rejected him yet, and that matters the most.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky tells him after a big breath.

Steve stares down at his sketchbook, not saying a word.

“I don’t know why I did it,” Bucky tells him. “I’d been drinking and I was in a weird mood. And maybe I was jealous of her because it’s always been you and me, you know? I felt like she was taking you away from me.”

It’s all lies. Bucky hates lying to him, but it’s for the best. He knows Steve isn’t stupid enough to think it’s because he was drunk or because he got scared his best friend was being stolen.

Steve looks up to him, face unreadable. Then, he knocks his shoe into Bucky’s and offers him a crooked smile. “I’m still here.”

It doesn’t feel as good as the truth would’ve felt, but Bucky smiles back at him, already feeling lighter. “Yeah, I see that now,” he hums.

They both look out into the park, at all the people milling about and the cold, grey sky above them. For a few seconds, it feels like how it was before. Bucky almost wants to look over and see the ninety-five pound version of Steve. It’s different now, though, some things for the better and some for the worse.

“Steve,” Bucky starts carefully, suddenly feeling choked up. He won’t let this ruin them. He can’t lose Steve. “Can we pretend it didn’t happen?”

Steve looks over to him and studies his face for an agonizing minute before nodding slowly. “Yeah, sure, Buck.”

Bucky slumps down into the bench and takes a long breath of air. It’s not perfect, but Bucky feels like things could be okay.

***

Things are a little stilted for a while, but Bucky and Steve easily click back into place. Bucky pushes the night of Steve’s wedding into a dark corner of his brain and tries his best not to think about it, and he hopes that Steve does the same.

Bucky visits Steve and Peggy at their apartment at least once a week for dinner, the three of them spending the night talking and joking, or Peggy locking herself away in her office to do work while Steve and Bucky catch each other up on their week. Surprisingly, it works between the three of them. Bucky likes Peggy, despite everything, and Peggy at least tolerates Bucky. There’s still a niggling thought that Peggy knows, especially with the way she’ll look at Bucky sometimes, eyes calculating and cold as she watches him.

Tonight, Bucky is grateful to find that Peggy is still out when he gets to their apartment. Steve answers the door, a wide smile on his face as he greets Bucky and shows him in. He sits him at the kitchen table and pours glasses of whiskey for the two of them as he tells Bucky about the meal Peggy is making and how she’s getting some ingredients last minute.

Bucky sips his whiskey and squints at the pot on the burner. The whole kitchen smells of whatever it is, and not some burnt mess that Bucky and Steve used to make. Bucky’s mother could never quite teach him how to cook, despite all her best efforts. Steve’s got a wife for that now, though.

“She seems like an awfully good wife,” Bucky tells Steve between sips of his whiskey. “Might have to steal her out from under you.”

Steve shakes his head, smiling a little. “Don’t think even you could.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky grins, like it’s a challenge. “I think you’re forgetting just how much of a charmer I am.”

“I must be,” Steve says, still smiling. Something in his face changes just a little when he asks, “Where are all these dames that you’ve charmed, Buck?”

Bucky feels his stomach drop as he peers down into his drink. He’s not sure if the question is pointed, and if Steve is fishing for something, but he shrugs his shoulders timidly. “No point in pretending anymore,” he says quietly.

He doesn’t know why he says it, not really. He could easily keep up his ruse of pretending like the night of Steve’s wedding was only a minor fumble, that he’s still the same old dog he used to be, and that he’s still going to bed with all the prettiest dames. He doesn’t, though.

He thinks it’s probably because of the way they’ve so easily skirted around the topic, like the kiss never happened. He should be happy it was so easily ignored, but Bucky apparently can’t settle with that. Maybe he just wants Steve to know it’s not just him, and that Bucky’s always been this way.

Looking up nervously to see his reaction, Bucky watches as Steve frowns at him. He’s thinking, and Bucky can practically see the gears turning.

“That’s what it was?” he asks then. “Pretending?”

“It’s a lot easier to ignore it when you’re pretending.”

With that, it feels like it’s all out on the table. He’s admitting to something he’s held so close to his chest for years, something that he told himself he’d never admit to anyone. He’s just like all the fairies at the docks or the queens in the dark alleyways. He’s no good, but at least someone else knows.

Steve gives him a hard look. “But all those dames, they – you just led them on. And all so you could…” he trails off, clearly not wanting to finish his sentence.

It stings, though, and Buck easily counters him. “You really think that’s the only reason I did it, Steve?”

“Why else would you?” Steve asks, an edge to his voice. He really doesn’t know, though, and that makes Bucky angry at him.

“Come on,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “Steve, how many times did someone call you a queer? Doesn’t mean it’s true, but you were little, and that’s just what folks thought.” Steve opens his mouth, but Bucky cuts him off. “And I lived with you, and it didn’t matter who I was, people were going to talk. I wasn’t going to let them. Not when you were at stake.”

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest with finality as Steve nearly jumps up from the table.

“I didn’t _need_ your help,” he hisses, pacing the kitchen angrily.

“No, maybe not, but I wasn’t about to take that chance.”

Steve pauses, a vulnerable look on his face as he stares at Bucky. He opens his mouth, probably about to say something, but then the jangling of Peggy coming home stops him. They both snap to attention, Peggy coming into the kitchen with a paper bag in her grip. She smiles at the two of them.

“Speak of the devil,” Bucky says casually, shooting Steve a sharp look. “Was just telling Steve that I need to find myself a wife as good as you.”

Peggy doesn’t seem impressed with Bucky’s words, but she gives him a warm smile anyways. “I’m sure you’ll find someone perfect for you.”

Bucky tries not to look over to Steve when he hums, “Maybe.”

***

Time moves quickly. Things would feel like before if it wasn’t for how empty the apartment feels without Steve around. Bucky has no excuses to take work off to take care of Steve, lied up in bed with a fever, and he has no reason to save whatever extra money he has for when he’ll have to inevitably pay for medication. He doesn’t even come into work with black eyes anymore since Steve can fight his own battles.

He’s just trying desperately to find a new way to live in an old life.

He does as best as he can, but things come to a halt when one Thursday night Steve comes knocking at his door.

Bucky is just finishing heating some soup after getting home late from work. He’s sore and still grimy with the sweat of a hard day’s work, but he slowly makes his way over to the door. He’s not sure who he’s expecting when he swings open the door, but it’s not Steve.

Steve is hunched over, his hands in his pockets and his bangs flopping into his red eyes. Bucky is startled for a few seconds, stupidly standing the doorway just looking at Steve, before he flicks to life and moves so Steve can slip in wordlessly.

Bucky doesn’t make him talk. He only sets him down at the table across from Bucky and pours the soup into two separate bowls. He clanks the bowls down onto the table and pushes it closer to Steve, silently telling him to eat. Eventually, he mechanically picks up his spoon and starts to eat, a hard look on his face. Bucky recognizes the expression, the same one he wore for weeks when his mother first got sick. It’s the same look when he’d deliver bad news on one of their missions. Bucky’s almost scared to ask.

“This is good,” Steve finally says, voice hoarse.

Bucky smiles a little. “Mrs. Clemons brought it over. Thought I worked too much and was scared I wasn’t eating.”

Steve swirls the contents of what’s left in his bowl. “She doing okay?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“Think so,” Bucky hums. “Still thinks I play my music too loud but, you know.”

“You do,” Steve says, smiling up at him. It slopes downwards when he goes, “Miss living here sometimes.”

Bucky quirks a playful eyebrow at him. “Your luxury apartment too nice for you, Rogers?”

Steve shrugs, a pained expression falling on his face. His voice is quiet when he goes, “Just a little crowded.”

“You ever gonna tell me what happened?”

Steve bristles. “Nothing happened, Buck, it’s – ”

“Bullshit,” he says, letting his spoon drop noisily into his bowl. “You’ve been crying, Steve. I’m not as stupid as you think I am, you punk.”

Steve leans back into his chair and refuses to look at Bucky. He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, and Bucky waits patiently, but with how stubborn Steve is, he isn’t expecting much. He starts to collect the bowls and is about to get up when Steve says, “Do you think I rushed into things with Peggy?”

Bucky was scared that this was what this was about. He’s never trusted himself soliciting advice to Steve about his relationship since he has no real experience and because of how biased he is, even after all of this time.

“Jesus, Steve,” he sighs, carefully placing the bowls down.

“Do you think I should’ve waited?” he asks now, face stricken.

Bucky rubs his face awkwardly. “Well, you loved her didn’t you? Why wouldn’t you marry her?”

“I did. I _do_ ,” he assures him. “I just always thought this would be different. That I’d feel different.”

He can feel his heartbeat racing, and he hates that twinge of hope that instantly springs up. He forces it down and tries to breathe evenly.

Steve goes on without him. “Before Peggy, I never had anyone interested in me,” Steve tells him. Bucky almost interjects to tell him that Bucky’s always been interested in him, but he knows better than that. “What if I was just so happy that someone was finally interested in me that I – ”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky stops him, shaking his head. “You know that’s not true. You love Peggy, and you – “

“I can’t stop thinking about our kiss.”

Bucky wants to pull away instantly. He’s terrified, and his heart feels like it’s not even beating anymore. Impulsively, he picks up the bowls and brings them over to the sink, too scared to say anything. He doesn’t trust his mouth at the moment.

Steve makes up for the silence, though, standing up and walking over so he’s right in front of Bucky. “I was angry at you at first, and I was confused,” he explains. “But it makes sense.”

Nothing is making sense to Bucky right now. Especially not the way that Steve is looking at him, a deep crease in-between his eyebrows, or the way he makes careful steps towards Bucky only to pull him forward and kiss him.

And, _Jesus_ , Bucky had almost forgotten how Steve felt. This, though, helps him remember.

He pulls away. He’s not a good man, not in the least, but he can’t kiss Steve.

Steve looks horrified for a few seconds, but then slumps forward, his shoulder sagging as he sighs loudly. He runs a shaky hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Why do you get to kiss me but I can’t kiss you?” he asks, laughing bitterly.

“Because I’m not the one you’re in love with,” Bucky admonishes, folding his arms over his chest defensively.

Steve stills, eye wide. “You’re in love with me?”

“That’s not – ” Bucky makes a choked noise, afraid to even look Steve in the eye. “That’s not what I meant.” He takes a big breath. “I meant that you love Peggy, _not_ me, and you should be – ”

“But you are, aren’t you?” His eyes are cutting straight through Bucky when he asks, “In love with me.”

It feels like a horrible trap with the way Steve says it, and the cant of his hips as he corners Bucky in his kitchen and stares at him. He’s not sure how to answer, and he’s hurting so bad under the weight of Steve’s gaze. “What do you want me to say, Steve?” he says, half hysterical. “That I’ve loved you since we were kids and I’ve choked it down for years. Do you _really_ want to hear that?”

Steve is silent for too long, and it makes Bucky hate himself for admitting it so easily. He tells himself that it’s better this way, that it being all out on the table, but the look Steve is giving him is making Bucky sick.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bucky almost thinks this is funny. He rubs his face and tries to make sense of everything. “Because I hated myself for it, Steve, and I still do,” he admits quietly.

Of all the emotions, the pitying expression on Steve’s face makes Bucky feel sicker than he already does. Steve _feels bad for him_ , and it’s all horribly wrong. He doesn’t say anything, but he carefully tries to step closer, arms clearly outstretched for a hug, but it’s the last thing Bucky wants. He easily skirts around Steve and heads for the door. Steve catches up to him as he’s shucking on his jacket.

“Bucky,” Steve starts. He’s _worried_ about Bucky, like he thinks he’ll go pitch himself off a building.

Bucky cuts him off. “Look, you can stay here if you want,” he says quickly, “but I’m going to be out for a while. So, lock up if you leave.”

Steve gives him one last worried look before Bucky slams the door on his way out.

***

He surprised when Steve is still there when he gets back in the early hours of the morning.

Bucky could only spend so much time at the bar staring into drink after drink before he finally had to retreat home. He knows he smells awful, like cigarettes and cheap drinks, but it doesn’t feel as good as it used to. He fondly remembers the comfortable warmth that came with being drunk, and had tried to chase it so desperately only to come up short every time. He can’t get drunk anymore.

He lets himself in quietly, by habit, and is startled when he catches the jagged silhouette of Steve asleep on the couch. His head is resting on the arm of the couch, his bangs having fallen into his eyes, and he’s got a thick quilt pulled up to his chin. Most of Bucky’s anger has melted away through the night, but whatever remaining tension he has evaporates at the sight of Steve. His fingers itch to move back his hair from his eyes, but he ignores it, like he always has, and starts to undo his shoes.

He must be too loud because Steve is awake and sitting up on the couch when Bucky turns away after he puts his coat into the closet. Steve’s hair is sticking up and his face is gentle when he looks at Bucky. They look at each other from across the room. It feels like a standoff.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says then, his hands tangled together nervously in his lap. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you or kissed you or – I’m sorry, Buck.”

Bucky wants to be angry at him, he really does, but it’s never worked before and it won’t work now. “You don’t have to apologize,” he says quietly, standing awkwardly in front of Steve.

Steve huffs. “No, I do. I don’t want for you to think that I see you any differently. You’re still my best friend,” he says. “’Til the end of the line, pal.”

Just like that, years of fear melt away at Steve’s words. Bucky can tell he’s not lying or putting up a front; he really means it. It doesn’t wipe away the disgust he has for himself, or for his feelings towards Steve, but it does help a little.

“Thank you,” Bucky croaks out as he blinks away tears. The last thing he needs is to cry in front of Steve.

Steve doesn’t offer a hug, but he does make room on the couch for Bucky to sit next to him. Cautiously, Bucky keeps distance between them as he sits. They’re quiet for a bit, the two of staring down at their own laps before Steve finally goes, “Can I ask you a question?”

Bucky lets out a breathy laugh. “I supposed.”

“When did you know?”

“What?”

Steve makes a vague hand gesture and then shakes his head. “When did you know that you were…” Steve trails on, clearly struggling to come up with a safe word.

“A queer?” Bucky finishes for him, a hint of bitterness to the word.

Steve seems hesitant, but he nods.

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t know. Sort of just worked it out after a while,” he tells Steve casually. He makes it sound so nonchalant, but it was anything but when he was figuring it out. Steve wouldn’t ever understand if he tried explaining it to him.

“And you’ve – with – “ Steve fumbles, his face suddenly going bright red. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”

Bucky smiles a little. He doesn’t understand how he’s gotten to a point in his life where Steve is asking him if he’s slept with a man before. “I have,” Bucky tells him quietly. “A few times.”

Steve’s eyes go wide and his face somehow turns a brighter red. “Oh.”

“Aren’t you glad you asked?” Bucky teases lightly. He smiles fully at Steve now, leaning back into the couch to watch how easily embarrassed and flustered Steve gets.

Steve looks like he’s about to say something but he decides not, shaking his head a little as he smiles down into his lap. Bucky watches it slip off, though, only moments later. Steve rubs his face and makes a distressed noise. “What am I going to do, Buck?”

“In the morning, you’re going to go home, get on your knees, and apologize,” Bucky tells firmly. “And then you’re going to be happy because one of us deserves to be happy.”

Steve is quiet for a moment, but then he pulls Bucky in for a hug, his arms winding tightly around Bucky as he says, “You deserve to be happy too.”

Bucky doesn’t think it’s true, but for a few seconds, Steve makes him think it could be.

***

Things don’t go back to how they were before, and Bucky was already expecting it.

The weekly invitations for dinner stop coming, and Steve spends more nights on Bucky’s couch, a sour expression permanently on his face. Bucky knows they’re trying to keep things together. Bucky had tried to shake that burning hope that swelled in his chest, but it was easier when Steve was moping around his apartment.

Bucky is walking to the grocer when he runs into Peggy.

He’s lost in thought, thinking about what it is that he can make to cheer Steve up, when he catches sight of her perfectly curled hair walking straight towards him. Her heels click as she makes her way down the sidewalk, eyes hard on Bucky’s gaze when he catches them. She stops when they reach each other, and Bucky is scared to say something.

“Is he still at your apartment?” she asks carefully, voice softer than the hard expression she is giving Bucky.

Bucky nods. He left him on the couch, wearing Bucky’s borrowed clothes and curled around an old novel.

“At least I know where to find him,” Peggy mutters. She takes a big breath, shoulders heaving up before settling back down gracefully. “Walk with me.”

She keeps walking, not waiting for a response, and Bucky hesitantly follows after her. Nervously, he digs through his jacket pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes and matches. He’s just lit the cigarette when Peggy goes, “Divorce will be difficult.”

Bucky chokes on the smoke, coughing into his elbow. “ _What_?”

Steve never mentioned divorce, and he wouldn’t ever. He didn’t just quit at things. Not to mention, the last thing Steve would want was to be like all the other couples separating after the war. Peggy, though, doesn’t even look perturbed as she talks so casually about it.

“I know it’s not what he wants,” she says, like she knows what Bucky is thinking about. “I don’t particularly like it, either.”

“Then don’t,” Bucky tells her, taking a much needed drag from his cigarette.

Peggy turns to look at him, her lips downturned disapprovingly. He’s gotten used to this expression. Now, though, it morphs into something else, and Bucky recognizes it for what it is almost immediately: pity.

“You know, I’m not as daft as you think I am,” Peggy tells him.

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t think you are,” he says truthfully.

There’s a moment of silence before she says, “I know how you feel about him.”

Bucky freezes, his cigarette still in between his lips. Peggy stops walking, waiting with a raised eyebrow at Bucky. She’s blunt and nonchalant and it’s never annoyed Bucky more than it does now.

“What do you mean?” Bucky fumbles out, taking a few strides forward in an attempt to not look so guilty.

Peggy snorts. “I’ve known since the war, James,” she informs him. “I looked at him the same way you do.”

All Bucky can think is deny, deny, _deny_.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” Bucky growls at her in a quiet voice. “But I know you’re wrong.”

Peggy seems startled by his reaction, but not afraid in the least. “I’m going back to London for the holidays. I want for you to keep him company.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. He feels completely out of his depth, and it doesn’t help when she carefully goes, “I still love him.”

“He still loves you,” Bucky blurts out dumbly. It’s true, though, Steve does.

Peggy gives him another sympathetic look before smiling with a note of finality and walking off. Bucky doesn’t follow this time. He only drops his cigarette and heads in the other direction, head spinning.

***

Steve is surprisingly chipper for someone with the threat of divorce looming over him.

Thanksgiving has always been a bleak affair between the two of them after both of their parents had died. They had little money between the two of them for fancy meals, and usually either of them would be working most of the day. Miraculously, though, they finally have money in their pockets and days off for a proper Thanksgiving.

Steve was the one to bring up an idea of inviting Becca and her husband over to the apartment and getting a turkey and everything. Bucky thinks he’s joking at first. He can’t actually imagine the four of them sitting down for a proper meal together in Bucky’s shitty apartment.

It happens, though, and before Bucky can even decide if he really wants it, Steve is racing around the kitchen with his mother’s old, frilly apron on as he checks the oven and stirs both of the pots on the burner. Bucky watches on with amusement, shooed from the kitchen after burning his hand on boiling water.

“You know, Bec’s had to eat my ma’s food for years,” Bucky tells Steve from the kitchen table. “It’s a familial thing. We all can’t cook. She won’t be expecting much.”

Steve scoffs as he uses a sharp knife to cut vegetables. Bucky thinks about the pocketknives he used to carry everywhere, deep in his pockets or stuffed in his boots. The blades were covered with mud and blood and some days Bucky didn’t have the energy to clean them. Steve is oblivious to the way Bucky watches each cut so carefully.

“You shouldn’t talk about your ma like that, Buck,” Steve scolds. “She was a hell of a cook. You’re just jealous you didn’t inherit her skills.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “There’s a reason you were the only one who finished all her burnt food, Steve.”

Before Steve can defend his ma some more, there’s a knock on the door and Bucky shoots up to get it, flattening his hair and straightening his shirt before opening the door. When he sees the two of them, he blinks a few times in surprise.

“Shit,” he curses, mouth parted in surprise.

Becca smiles brightly, a fragile hand holding her stomach. “Surprise,” she says, voice high and nervous.

Steve rounds the corner, a rag in his hands, and he stops dead in his tracks when he sees Becca. “Why didn’t you tell me, Buck?”

“I didn’t know.”

Next to her husband, Becca is wearing a tight blue dress that accentuates her rounded belly. Bucky hasn’t seen in her months, not since he got home. He doesn’t remember a pregnancy declaration or even the slight curve of a baby bump.

“I wanted to tell you, really, but things have been so hectic and with you being so far – ”

Bucky is grinning stupidly at her, and he almost has to blink away tears. “Shit, Bec, this is great. Congratulations.”

They go in for an awkward hug, Bucky overly careful of her stomach. She laughs into his shoulder and Bucky laughs back. Steve hugs her next and Bucky and Becca’s husband, William, exchange nods in greetings. In the kitchen, Becca refuses to stay seated, and helps Steve out in the kitchen, Steve gingerly working around her.

William and Bucky sit at the kitchen table and make small talk, the two of them breaking off sentences to take a look at Steve and Becca working in the kitchen so seamlessly together. William and Becca married before the war, the two of them childhood sweethearts. William had moved her to New Jersey ( _of all goddamn places,_ Bucky thinks bitterly) and Bucky had only visited their place once to say goodbye before shipping out.

“Kind of thought Becca was pulling my leg when she said we were having dinner with Captain America,” William remarks in a light tone. “Before I shipped out, I saw all of his pictures.”

Bucky smiles and traces a knot of wood in the table. He’s only seen one movie, and made fun of Steve for it relentlessly afterwards. Steve’s embarrassed by it all, naturally, and his face will go a deep red and trail down his neck and probably below his shirt if it’s brought up.

“He’s quiet the actor,” Bucky remarks.

“Your character in the comic books, though,” William says now. “ _Ace_. Still have a bunch of copies to read at home.”

Bucky tries not to laugh. “Thanks. Not really me, though.”

“You’re Captain America’s trusty sidekick,” William says, looking between Steve and Bucky now. “In real life and in the comics.”

Bucky picks at his nails and shrugs. He’s not some masked kid like in the comics, but he was there for Steve during the war. Sidekick, though, makes it sound like he was just tagging along, and that he didn’t actually go against direct orders when Steve was being bullheaded and wasn’t planning just as many missions as Steve. Bucky doesn’t need to say this, and he won’t, but he he’s always resented those comic books.

They go quiet for a bit, the two of them back to watching the way Steve and Becca prepare dinner. It’s not until Becca is reaching in one of the cupboards for the nice plates that Sarah left behind that Bucky shoots up and gets them for her. He gently places the four plates onto the table and then takes the offered silverware and does the same.

William is the one to pray, his voice deep and practiced as he says thanks for their food. They’re all holding hands, Steve to his left and Becca to his right. Bucky seamlessly tunes out the prayer, like he did the very few times he went to church as a kid, and how he did at Steve’s wedding, and how he does now, head bowed and brain elsewhere.

Steve’s hand is soft in his, and Bucky smiles despite himself. For a second, he can almost imagine that Steve is his. With Becca and William on one side of the table and Steve and Bucky on the other, like they’re just two couples double-dating. It’s stupid, but Bucky smiles down into his lap and grips Steve’s hand tighter before they break apart and dig into the food.

Their conversations flow easily, but eventually Steve mentions Peggy and everything shifts.

“I feel like I watched you grow up,” Steve says to Becca. “And now you’re having a baby.”

“We’ve changed a lot, haven’t we?” The table laughs. “It’ll be you soon enough, Steve.”

Steve squints in confusion.

Becca thinks it’s charming. “You and Peggy, of course. I’m sure you’re already trying for one.”

Bucky can see the way that Steve blushes, whole face going a deep red. Bucky’s jaw tightens at the thought of Steve and Peggy having _kids_. Starting a family is only the next logical step.

“We haven’t really talked about it,” Steve says in a high voice. “We’re both so busy with work. In the future, though, maybe.”

There’s an awkward silence, one where Bucky can tell Steve’s lying.

“I’m really sorry that I missed your wedding, Steve,” Becca says mournfully. She had been gone that weekend, on a trip to visit William’s folks in Indiana. Bucky thinks it was probably for the best she hadn’t been there.

Steve, as gracious as ever, shrugs his shoulders and smiles. “It wasn’t anything too fancy,” he tells her. Then, with a little excitement, he stands so he can dig his wallet out of his back pocket and pulls out a folded up photograph. He hands it to Becca, and Bucky leans over so he can see it.

“Oh, you two look beautiful,” Becca hums, a hand covering her mouth as she peers down at it. “Such a shame I had to miss it.”

It’s Steve and Peggy on their wedding day, standing next to each other and smiling brightly. Bucky still remembers when the photograph was taken. He had stood to the side, hands deep in his pockets as he watched on.

“Such a romantic,” Becca says now, handing the photo back. “Keeping it in your wallet like that.”

Bucky stuffs a piece of turkey into his mouth and refuses to look over at Steve.

“Well,” Steve says awkwardly. “You know.”

Becca laughs. “Where is Peggy? Had expected her to be here today.”

“Visiting family in London for the holidays, actually.”

“You didn’t go with?”

Bucky does look at Steve when she says this, only to watch him flounder, his mouth opening and then closing. Bucky’s a few seconds away from kicking Steve under the table to get him to say something, but Steve finally spits out, “I had a lot of stuff to do for work. I’m working with Howard Stark now. It gets kind of hectic.”

“Howard Stark?” William says in an awed voice. “ _The_ Howard Stark.”

Bucky and Steve almost groan at the same time because, _yeah, that Howard Stark_.

The rest of the dinner goes by smoothly, and Bucky melts into the comfortable atmosphere. It feels good to laugh and be around Becca again. Things have been tense between Steve and Bucky, but tonight seems to undo it. It feels like the old days again. Bucky is half-expecting for Steve to be tiny again when he looks over to him. When he sees how he is now, though, Bucky doesn’t feel as mystified by it anymore. He looks to him and smiles shyly, just happy to still have him in his life after everything that’s happened.

The night is winding down, and William and Steve are deep into a conversation about the French countryside and the merits of grenades when Bucky notices that Becca is trying to do the dishes in the kitchen.

“Come on, Bec,” Bucky says, accidentally startling her. “You shouldn’t be up on your feet.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

Bucky scoffs. “You sound like Steve.”

“Not anymore,” Becca singsongs, handing Bucky a wet plate to dry.

He takes it from her and sighs.

“Is he staying here while Peggy is away?” Becca asks. Bucky must look guilty because she smiles softly at him. “I saw his suitcase in the living room.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, he is. Peggy wanted me to look after him. Probably so he doesn’t get into any fights.”

They finish the dishes in silence, the two of them working in tandem. It’s comfortable and reminds Bucky of when they were young and their parents were still alive.

When Becca is drying her hands on a dishrag, she gives Bucky a worried expression and asks, “Are you okay, Buck?”

Bucky nearly drops the glass bowl he’s holding. The question swallows him whole and makes his insides ache cruelly. Her stare, though, is the worst part. Bucky knows he has to be reading too far into things, but he can’t take the intensity of her stare, like she knows everything too. Bucky wonders if everyone in his life just _knows_.

“I’m fine,” Bucky assures her. His eyes betray him and he quickly looks over to the direction of the living room where he can still hear Steve talking. “Never been better.”

Becca’s frown grows deeper, but she pulls Bucky into a hug. “I love you, Bucky,” she says into his shoulder.

Bucky blinks rapidly, scared the tears will tip out. “I love you, too.”


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky asks Steve to sleep with him one night.

They had fallen asleep on the couch, Bucky reading and Steve sketching, and when Bucky wakes up, his head is on Steve’s shoulder. He nuzzles his nose against the soft fabric of Steve’s sweater for a few seconds and then sits up, his book dropping to the ground. It makes enough noise that Steve jolts awake.

“What time is it?” Steve asks, setting his sketchpad on the coffee table and stretching. His bones crack loudly in the quiet room.

Checking the time on his watch, Bucky goes, “Quarter to two.”

Steve huffs out a laugh before breaking into a yawn. It’s contagious because Bucky ends up doing the same, yawning exaggeratedly to make Steve smirk at him. Steve does, as he expects, and Bucky basks in the beauty of it, admiring how sleep-rumpled he looks as he leans into the couch.

“Come sleep in my bed,” Bucky says without thinking. He’s tired, though, and he desperately wants this. It’s just sleeping, and there isn’t anything wrong with sleeping.

“You think we can even fit in it?” Steve asks, raising an amused eyebrow at him.

Bucky shrugs. “Only one way to find out.”

Steve grabs his pillow from next to the couch and they head into the bedroom. With the light switched off, and the only light coming in from the thin curtains in the corner of the room, Bucky and Steve undress. It feels achingly familiar. The motions are so practiced that Bucky doesn’t even feel awkward as he slips under the covers and leaves it open for Steve to get in beside him.

The squeeze is tight, but Bucky rolls over so that his chest is flat against Steve’s back, like how they used to sleep when it got cold during the winter. Steve doesn’t need to be warmed up anymore. He’s hot to touch, and Bucky is careful where he keeps his hands.

“You used to be colder,” Bucky whispers to Steve. “You comfortable?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. Then, hesitantly, “You?”

Bucky smiles. “Definitely.”

They stay like that for a long while, and Bucky tries to sleep, but his chest suddenly feels so heavy that he can’t do anything but stare ahead and breathe shallowly. Bucky hates himself a little when a few tears fall from his eyes. He tries to stay quiet, and he prays Steve is asleep already, but he knows he isn’t.

“Bucky,” Steve starts, voice hesitant and quiet.

He means to open his mouth and assure Steve that he’s fine, but he can’t manage it. The silence goes on for too long.

“I’m sorry I’ve been putting you through hell,” Steve finally whispers.

Bucky chokes a little, crying harder than before. “No,” he says. “You’ve done nothing wrong, pal. I’ve just missed this.”

Steve stays completely still.

“I miss our old lives,” Bucky admits, using the back of his hand to wipe at his wet face. “I miss how easy everything felt. When you were little, and there was no war, and you didn’t know. I fucking miss it so much.”

Steve’s hand grips Bucky’s, the one that’s still wet with Bucky’s tears, and he strokes his thumb over it. “I know,” he hums.

“Everything’s changed. I feel like I’m trying so hard to fit into this old life that I can’t live anymore.” Bucky sniffs loudly, already feeling embarrassed by his admissions. He forges on, though, knowing he’s already dug his grave. “I’m scared for everything to keep changing, though. I wanna go back so bad.”

“It’s not all bad, you know,” Steve tells him. “I’m still here, whether you like it or not. And I’m healthy, so you don’t even have to play nurse anymore or get beat up when I start a fight.” Steve laughs a little, and Bucky smiles wetly. “We have money now, the war is over, Mr. Johnson finally moved out so now he’s not always yelling at us. Things are good.”

“I’m being selfish.”

Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s hand. “You’re not. I miss it sometimes, too. But this is what we have now.” Steve knocks his foot into Bucky’s under the covers for emphasis. “It’s not so bad all the time.”

“Maybe.” Bucky laughs a little and presses closer to Steve, his nose nearly pushed into Steve’s hair. “Not so bad.”

***

On Christmas morning, Steve kisses Bucky again.

He shouldn’t be allowed to, especially with the way he wear his wedding band like a badge of honor. And especially with the way his best girl is across the pond, unknowing to their shenanigans. Or maybe too knowing. Bucky is unsure.

Bucky isn’t prepared for it, though, when Steve wakes him up with small kisses on his face. He surfaces from unconsciousness with Steve’s lips on his cheek and his forehead and his jaw. Bucky thinks it’s a dream for a few seconds, and he leans into the kisses, like in this world he is used to the press of Steve’s lips on him straight in the morning.

It’s only when Steve places a hand on his cheek and leans forward to press their lips together that Bucky realizes it’s not a dream. With startling clarity, Bucky kisses him back for a few seconds until his brain is screaming at him to pull away or pull Steve closer. His conscience wins out, though, because he puts a firm hand on Steve’s chest and whispers, “ _Steve_.”

Steve does as Bucky silently asks, but he tucks his head into Bucky’s neck, nuzzling his nose into Bucky’s skin as he breathes hotly in his neck. “Merry Christmas,” Steve hums, and Bucky can feel his smile in his neck. The moment doesn’t feel particularly happy, though, and the mood is only solidified when Bucky is so silent that Steve says, “She’s in love with someone else.”

“What?” Bucky asks stupidly, moving around so that he can see Steve’s face.

Steve takes the cue and sits up in bed, his big hands tangled in the old comforter. “I can tell Peggy’s in love,” he admits quietly. “Not with me. Not anymore. Or maybe she never was, I’m not sure.”

“Steve, she was,” Bucky assures him. Then quickly adds, “She _is_. She just told me the other day.”

He squints at Bucky, mouth parting. “When did you talk to Peggy?”

Bucky swallows nervously, looking away from Steve and shrugging. “Before she left. I ran into her on the way to the grocers.”

“And she just happened to tell you that she still loved me?”

It feels like a trap. He wants to answer truthfully, but a lie seems so much easier. The truth is ugly and hard and Steve doesn’t deserve it, especially on Christmas. Mostly, though, Bucky doesn’t want to admit that she knows, not to Steve, and not to anyone.

“She said I looked at you like she used to,” Bucky says cautiously. He shouldn’t be saying it, but he does. Maybe he wants for Steve to see that his love isn’t evil or perverse, but instead the same kind that Peggy feels. Maybe he’s trying to convince himself of that, as well.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but Bucky can see the way his jaw tightens.

Bucky swallows thickly before continuing. “She said she wanted me to keep you company while she was gone, and that she still loved you.”

Steve still isn’t saying anything, not even after at least a full minute of Bucky staring at him with all his nerves bundled up.

“I didn’t tell her anything, Steve,” Bucky quickly adds. “I don’t know how she knew, okay, but I didn’t say – ”

“Figures,” Steve finally says, making Bucky stop in his tracks.

“What do you mean?”

Steve stares ahead bitterly for a moment before he finally sighs. “It’s a women. The person Peggy’s in love with.”

Bucky tries to comprehend what he’s saying, but there’s no way. Steve must have something wrong. He must have been so twisted in with all the things Bucky’s put in his head to create this awful idea of his.

“Peggy isn’t like me,” Bucky tells him quickly.

Steve seems hurt by this, and Bucky is confused until Steve quietly whispers, “I don’t see anything wrong with the two of you, you know?”

Bucky fiddles with the bedspread, his eyes feeling watery as Steve stares at him with so much genuine love it hurts. Bucky knows Steve is wrong, that Peggy can’t possibly be in love with some other woman, but he tries to make himself believe it’s true so it justifies what he does next.

It takes all his nerves, but he surges forward to kiss Steve. His hand touches the soft skin at the back of Steve’s neck as he pulls him closer. Steve sighs into his mouth, his hand fisting the front of Bucky’s ratty t-shirt. Bucky doesn’t deserve the moment. He’s not the person Steve should be kissing in bed, and he was never supposed to be, but he doesn’t let the chance go to waste. He kisses Steven until he’s forced to stop, leaning his forehead against Steve’s and breathing heavily over his lips. Their noses are touching, and Bucky smiles a little at that.

“Merry Christmas, Steve.”

***

Bucky and Steve don’t stay up until midnight on New Years Eve.

Instead, they fall asleep tucked into each other in bed and wake up to the loud, celebratory bangs of fireworks and their neighbors cheering. Bucky jolts up when he hears the first bang, his whole body rigid and on edge as he looks around, completely disoriented.

There’s another loud pop, and Bucky almost jumps out of bed, but is startled by Steve’s soft hand on his arm, his thumb gently brushing against the skin as he sleepily mumbles, “Fireworks.”

Bucky exhales heavily and rubs at his face. They had talked about this earlier, hoping maybe they’d sleep soundlessly through the night and not hear a single bang. Hearing how loud they are now, though, Bucky feels stupid for ever thinking he could just sleep through it.

His whole chest constricts when another goes off, and his eyes screw closed. He tries to pay attention to the Steve’s thumb still brushing the skin of his arm, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Every sound brings him back, and his hands clench uselessly for the steady, safe weight of a rifle.

“C’mere,” Steve slurs, his arms tugging Bucky down into the bed. In one easy motion, he has his broad chest against Bucky’s back, arms wound around him and holding him close.

Another firework goes off, and Bucky feels incrementally better than before. Wrapped in Steve’s arms, he closes his eyes and pays special attention to the soft huffs of breath against his neck. He still feels his body go rigid with another bang, and Steve is quick to whisper, “Did I ever tell you about that time all the dancer on the USO tour tried to dress me up like a dame?”

Bucky smiles despite the anxiety bundling in his chest. “Tried?”

“They couldn’t quite get me into the dress,” Steve tells him, laughing breathily. “We had a lot of spare time on tours. After they found out that I wasn’t about to go to bed with any of them, they acted like I was their kid brother or something.”

“None of them?” Bucky asks, surprised.

“Hm?”

“You didn’t make time with any of them?”

Steve laughs again, his feet rustling against Bucky’s. “No,” he says. “That would’ve been a dangerous game, pal.”

Bucky smirks. He maybe understands.

“Anyways, after that they always wanted to put their stage makeup on me or teach me the dances,” Steve explains. “I’ll have you know that I learned those dances. Could do them better than any of them.”

He can’t help his loud laugh, his hand covering his mouth. “I’ll believe it when I see it, Rogers. Last time I checked, you gave me a black eye while trying to learn to lindy.”

“The serum made me a great dancer, Buck,” Steve says knowingly. “And a black eye is definitely an exaggeration.”

“I think that serum knocked your memory loose if you don’t remember that black eye I had for days.”

Bucky can practically hear the way Steve rolls his eyes.

“They never got you all dolled up, though?” Bucky asks, lips curling up at the thought of Steve being fusses over.

“Oh, they tried,” Steve hums. “Put enough makeup on me I could hardly recognize myself. If I would’ve still been little, I would’ve been mistaken for a dame.”

Smiling, Bucky relaxes into Steve’s arm when the next firework goes off.

“You know,” Bucky says quietly. “I remember when I first saw you talking to dames after Azzano, I didn’t think you were real.” Steve makes an amused noise and Bucky continues. “You used to get all nervous and could barely speak a few words without burning up with a blush. Then, though, you were a better smooth talker than I was.”

Steve teasingly slaps Bucky’s arm with the back of his hand. “Was not. No one could beat that charm of yours.”

“You’re damn right.” Bucky smiles for a few seconds and then turns over in Steve’s arms, so he’s facing Steve. He doesn’t mean to, not really, but he reaches out his hand to carefully place his thumb against Steve’s bottom lip. “What do you say, you wanna get some red lipstick tomorrow?”

Steve smiles, his lips stretching over Bucky’s thumb. He moves his hand away, letting it drop to Steve’s chest. “You into that, Barnes?” he asks teasingly.

“Nah.” Bucky shakes his head. “You’re pretty enough without it.”

The playful smile on Steve’s face slips off, but he doesn’t seem offended. Surprised, yes, but not like he’s being preyed on by Bucky. Instead of disgust, he mimes Bucky’s motion, his thumb against Bucky’s lips. Bucky feels his breathing stop as Steve says, “You, though, you’d look good with it.”

Bucky wants to envelope Steve’s finger in the hot heat of his mouth and wrap his tongue around him. He wants for Steve to know how much he wants him, and how much he’s _always_ wanted him. He stops himself, though, by some grace of god, and only manages to spit out a nervous, “In your dreams.”

***

Unfortunately, Bucky is the one to answer the door when Peggy comes to their apartment.

Steve and Bucky are on the couch, teasingly shoving at each other and laughing too loud when they hear the three careful knocks on the door. They instantly freeze and Steve’s face scrunches up in worry. It’s obvious who it is, but Bucky pretends for a few seconds that it could be one of neighbors asking for them to keep it down. It could even be Becca or Dugan coming over for a surprise visit.

Standing up and tossing one worried glance at Steve, Bucky heads for the door. When he swings the door open, Peggy is standing with her hands on her hips, a pinched expression on her face. She looks refreshed, like the month away really did her some good. Bucky feels scrutinized under her gaze, though, like she already knows everything the two of them have been getting up to in her absence.

“Is Steve here?” she asks, clearly already knowing the answer.

Bucky nods, moving back and opening the door more so she can skirt past him and find Steve in the living room. When Bucky joins the two of them, he finds Steve sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch, eyes wide and defensive in Peggy’s direction.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Bucky says awkwardly, gesturing to the bedroom door.

Inside the bedroom, Bucky can hear the two of them through the door. They’re calm at first, trading pleasantries and talking about Peggy’s trip. Something shifts, though, and Bucky isn’t sure how but suddenly their voices quiet, and Bucky leans into the door like a child so he can hear the two of them argue in hissed whispers.

“I know you love Angie,” Steve grits out. “I don’t blame you, and I don’t hate you but – I just know.”

There’s a long silence, and Bucky wonders if Peggy will deny everything, and that Steve was wrong all along.

“I haven’t touched her,” Peggy says firmly. “And I wouldn’t, not while we’re still married, Steve. I don’t know if can say the same about you and him.”

Bucky can practically hear the way she must be pointing at the door Bucky’s hiding behind. He almost backs away guiltily, but it’s not like they actually think he’s not hearing all of this.

Steve makes a choked noise, something incomprehensible coming out his mouth before he clears his throat and says, “We aren’t anything. We’re _friends_. Practically brothers.”

Bucky’s sure that Peggy realizes that Steve didn’t answer the insinuated question.

“Does he know that?” Peggy accuses.

From the bedroom, Bucky wants to slam his way out and defend himself. He’s kept his secret for years, only with one slip up. He’s never expected anything more from Steve than their friendship. He’d never, either.

“He does,” Steve says. “We’ve talked about it.”

“Do you love him?”

Peggy’s voice is defeated and barely a whisper. Bucky can tell she doesn’t want to ask, and Bucky understands, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning his ear up to the crack of the door in hopes he’ll hear Steve’s response. He’s greedy for anything, and he knows that, but he can’t help it.

Steve is silent for too long, and Bucky half thinks maybe they’ve left, but then Steve quietly asks, “Why can’t I love you both?”

Peggy laughs, cold and broken, and Bucky swallows thickly. He wants to smile and he wants to cry. It’s not what he wants to hear, from either of them.

“Steve,” Peggy says delicately. “I think we’re different people than we used to be. We want different things.” There’s a pointed silence, and Bucky stupidly wonders if she’s glanced over to the door Bucky is behind. “And I think we both know this.”

“I…” Steve starts to say, but then falters, making a hurt sound.

Bucky’s hand twitch to go comfort him like he’s always done, but he stays hidden and listens intently for the rustle of clothing, and for the telltale soothing hushing of Peggy. Bucky tries not imagine her hands carefully brushing Steve’s soft hair and her lips leaving lipstick behind as she kisses his jaw. She can help him in ways Bucky never could.

Bucky pushes away from the door when he hears Steve crying. His hands crumple into fists, and his chest stings, so he rushes to the window and crawls out into the fire escape to light a cigarette with shaking hands.

Steve never used to cry. It was always Bucky. He remembers all the hell Steve would put him through when he caught him crying in the middle of a picture, and he remembers the careful way Steve would pretend he was still sleeping when Bucky cried over his sick body.

Everything is so different, and Bucky wishes for a few seconds that the two of them could fit into their old lives again. He always thought they would, after the war, but now that seems so laughable.

Bucky lets his cigarette drop through grate of the fire escape, red ember burning as it hits the dirty pavement below.

***

Things stay the same for months.

Steve stays at Bucky’s apartment, only going to his and Peggy’s apartment when he needs to pick something up, his visits pointedly scheduled while she is away.

Bucky doesn’t understand it, not in the least. He doesn’t see why they wouldn’t just get a divorce, and Bucky’s as much as told Steve this. Steve assures him, though, that they’ve been talking and working through things.

They don’t kiss again. There are moments when they almost do, but one of them always manages to pull away at the right moment, a silent reminder that it’s not allowed. It kills Bucky each time. Steve wants him, and Bucky never thought that would be possible. His whole body feels like it’s on fire when he’s next to Steve, knowing that they could have everything but there’s something standing in their way.

 _Star crossed lovers or some bullshit_ , Bucky thinks bitterly.

Today, though, the weather is warming up, and Bucky and Steve take the trolley down to Coney Island and are nearly shaking with excitement when they see the boardwalk and the Cyclone in the horizon. They aren’t the same anymore, but Coney Island still feels the same. It still ignites the same excitement.

Steve doesn’t throw up on the Cyclone, even after they fill up on a decadent amount of sugary treats before going on it. They go on it multiple times before resigning themselves to the other rides and then finally the beach, where there are only a few people milling about fully clothed since it’s not quite warm enough for anything else.

Bucky and Steve, though, chuck off their shoes and wade into the water, the rolled-up bottoms of their pants sinking into the water with them.

“Shit,” Bucky curses the second his toes hit the water. “It’s cold.”

Steve rolls his eyes at him and steps in deeper. “Not so bad.”

“Not all of us are science experiments, you know,” Bucky teases, lips curling up even if the words make him realize that he’s one too. Steve wouldn’t ever bring it up, though, so Bucky hides that fear with a smile and flicks some water at Steve.

He startles back. “Hey!”

Bucky laughs, taking a few cautious steps back only to still be kicked with the cold water, nearly drenching his pants. This calls for war, so Bucky retaliates and then makes a break for it, snatching up his shoes and running through the thick sand. Despite the way he sinks into the sand, Bucky feels significantly lighter as he runs down the beach, laughing and looking behind him to see Steve following after him.

He’s not expecting it, though, when Steve nearly tackles him, throwing the two of them into the sand in a mess of limbs. Bucky is still laughing when he flops onto his back, shoving Steve off of him and casually throwing his hands behind his head as he lies there.

Steve makes an amused noise and follows Bucky’s lead, shifting so that there’s a safe distance between their bodies. They don’t talk for a few minutes. It’s just the sounds of the waves crashing, and the two of them catching their breath, and the distant chatter of people. It’s comforting to Bucky, so he closes his eyes and just soaks it in.

“I love you.”

Bucky opens his eyes and looks over to Steve. He’s smiling shyly, like he didn’t actually mean to say it out loud.

“I love you too, Stevie,” Bucky hums easily.

“No,” Steve says then, looking a touch flustered. “I mean I’m in love with you, Bucky.”

Over the past few months, they’ve been so careful around each other. They’ve tried so hard to distance themselves from the gravitational pull they have to each other, only to wind up like this. Bucky’s never been more grateful for Steve’s truthful tongue.

“I am too,” Bucky finally says, head spinning. “You know that.”

Steve smiles at him again, oozing affection and the love he so proudly declared. Bucky smiles back and yearns to touch him and kiss him. He can’t here, though, and it’s unlikely he’ll be able to even in the safety of their own apartment. For now, Bucky smiles up at the sun happily. He has this, and that’s all that matters. It’s more than he ever thought he would have.

“I never thought I’d come back from the war,” Bucky admits hesitantly, “but I’m happy I did.”

Steve’s hand carefully brushes Bucky’s knuckles, the slightest of touches in such a public place. “I’m glad we both did.”

The thing is, Bucky always knew Steve was going to survive.

***

Bucky doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that Peggy visits the apartment when Steve is gone.

Mostly, Bucky’s just happy that he’s dressed and managed to wake up before noon on his day off from the docks. When he opens the door, his face instantly hardens, like he always has to be on the defensive with Peggy. Mostly, he’s scared of her, and has kind of always been.

“James,” she says, no hostility in her voice as she smiles brightly at him. It only makes Bucky suspicious.

“Steve’s at work,” Bucky says.

“Was actually looking for you.”

Beside her, there is a petite brunette who is fidgeting with the strap of her purse. Bucky gives her a strange look, the woman not even making eye contact with him, and then looks back to Peggy, head cocked. She offers nothing, so Bucky sighs and lets the two of them inside, guiding them to the living room. He tries to inconspicuously shut the bedroom door, the room a mess with Steve and Bucky’s clothes on the ground and the bed overflowing with their shared pillows and blankets.

Bucky pulls a chair from the kitchen and places it a safe distance from the couch, where the two women are sitting. Bucky is curiously looking over the brunette, an idea to who she is already, when Peggy clears her throat.

“This is Angie,” she announces to Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes zero in on the way their shoulders are touching with how close they’re sitting.

“Angie Martinelli,” the brunette says, smiling now at Bucky.

He hadn’t imagined her before, but he definitely hadn’t imagined the woman in front of him to be the one Peggy was with. She’s beautiful, just as stunning as Peggy. They almost look like they could be sisters if it wasn’t for the different accents. Bucky has conflicting feelings on her. On one hand, he wants to hate her for all the trouble she’s put them through, and on the other, he wants to thank her for bringing Steve to him.

He doesn’t know what to do or feel so he just stupidly blurts out, “What is this?”

Peggy, with a face of innocence, smiles. “Angie and I have a mutually beneficial idea that we wanted to speak to you about.”

“Why me and not Steve?”

“Because it’ll be your decision.”

Bucky looks between the two women and starts to grow nervous. He feels a little like they’re conspiring with the way they’re looking at Bucky.

It’s not until Peggy speaks again that Bucky realizes they are.

“I’m sure that Steve has told you about me and Angie,” Peggy says, voice neutral and calm.

Bucky grips the side of his chair and shrugs. “A little.”

From beside Peggy, Angie is looking as nervous as Bucky feels. He recognizes the expression on her face. It’s one that makes Bucky sick with empathy. It can’t be an easy thing to come to a stranger’s apartment and admit something like this.

Peggy takes a big breath before continuing, “I’m sure you’re also aware that me and Steve have discussed, in great lengths, a divorce. We were going to get one, but then I came to the realization that maybe we won’t have to.”

Bucky’s scared to say anything. The wheels in his brain are already working, and he’s worried he’s right.

“You and Steve are growing older, and if Steve and I went about getting the divorce, there would be no excuse for why Steve was living with you,” Peggy hums. “People might start talking.”

“What’s your plan, Peggy?” Bucky spits out, feeling edgy by her words.

Peggy opens her mouth, clearly ready to kick back into her prepared speech, when Angie cuts her off. “We want for you marry me and for us to move into the same building.”

Bucky makes a surprised noise, his mouth falling open as he stares at the two of them. “ _What_?” he says, feeling completely bewildered.

“It would be for the best,” Peggy explains in a rush. “You could be with Steve and I could be with Angie, and no one would suspect a thing. If we live in the same building, and even in apartments right next door, you could live together, too.”

It sounds like some kind of fantasy that Bucky would’ve come up with when he was freezing in Europe with a rifle in his hands, trying desperately to think of something that wasn’t his inevitable death.

“You want me to marry you as a cover?” Bucky asks.

Angie smiles, and then Peggy smiles at her. Bucky doesn’t smile. “Everyone can be happy.”

When Bucky hears this, he looks down into his lap. He’s not sure that everyone would be happy.

“Bucky, what’s wrong with this idea?”

He looks up, surprised to hear Peggy call him by his nickname. His eyes flicker of to Angie for a few seconds before they fall to the ground. His face feels hot when he finally admits, “I don’t know if that’s what Steve wants.”

“He loves you,” Peggy assures him quickly, voice sincere and broken. “I know it.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Bucky snaps. “It doesn’t mean that he’ll want to risk everything for me.” He runs his hands through his hair and sighs. In a quieter voice, he says, “And I don’t know if I’d want him to, either.”

Peggy and Angie exchange worried glances and Bucky hates watching it.

“Wait and talk to Steve when he gets home,” Peggy says, standing from the couch with finality. Angie follows her, sending Bucky a warm smile. He tries to return it, but he doesn’t think it’s quite right.

***

When Steve gets home, Bucky is at the kitchen table waiting for him.

Steve’s dressed in a nice suit, the same one he always wears when he goes up to Manhattan to work with Howard on whatever it is they do. When he sees Bucky at the table, he smiles and sits down next to him.

“I think Howard’s slowly going crazy,” Steve hums as he loosens his tie. “You should hear the things he tells me.”

“Nothing could surprise me anymore,” Bucky says, mostly because he’s heard some of the shit that’s come out of Howard’s mouth, but also because his head is still swarming with Peggy and Angie’s words.

Steve frowns at him, clearly picking up on Bucky’s mood. “Did something happen?”

Bucky shrugs. “Peggy came over today.”

“Oh.”

“She brought Angie with her.”

Steve looks like he’s about to say something, but he just sits with his lips parted and eyes wide.

“They want me to marry Angie as a cover so that we can be together and so can they,” Bucky informs him quietly. “Did you know?”

“ _Marry_?” Steve repeats, eyes even wider than before. “Bucky, I didn’t know at all. Trust me, I would’ve told you, I would’ve – Are you going to?”

“Marry Angie?” Bucky laughs, shaking his head. “I have no fucking clue, Steve.”

Steve looks thoughtful, which is entirely not what Bucky was expecting. He thought Steve would dismiss it so easily, that he wouldn’t even entertain the thought. Now, though, the line between his eyebrows deepens as he thinks.

“So, you’d live with her?” Steve asks.

Bucky laughs. He tells Steve about their plan to rent apartments right next to each other, which oddly resemble childhood fantasies Steve and Bucky had imagined once. Steve is quiet for a few minutes after Bucky explains everything to him. He sits and stares at the kitchen tabletop, biting the side of his mouth in contemplation.

“It’s a good idea,” Steve finally says, looking up Bucky with a hopeful expression on his face. “It’s really…” Steve trails off but then breaks into a smile. “Bucky, we could be together.”

Bucky feels his chest fill with hope, but he wills it down. “You’d want that?” he asks hesitantly.

“It would be strange, and illegal, and…I don’t know.” Steve laughs a little. His face settles before he says, “We could be happy together. It would make it worth it. What do you say?”

Both of them being happy had never seemed like a possibility to Bucky.

Bucky leans forward so he can kiss Steve, hoping maybe that can be his answer.

***

Bucky isn’t there when Steve tells Peggy the news. Instead, he’s at work, mind racing with all the possibilities of their future. When he gets home, though, Steve is relaxed and lounging on the couch, a book under his nose. When he sees Bucky, he smiles widely and says, “Guess who’s getting married?”

It’s as wild as Bucky could ever imagine, but he giggles into Steve’s neck and tries to see himself getting married to Angie at the same church Steve had.

They decide to celebrate, going out to the bar a few blocks over and spending too much money on drinks. When Steve and Bucky get home, Bucky’s arm thrown over Steve’s shoulders, they sway into the door like they’ve actually gotten drunk from their beers. Bucky’s never been a lightweight, definitely not compared to how Steve used to be, but after Azzano nothing affects him. He tries not to think about the cuts that had healed so quick, nearly reminiscent of Steve’s healing after the serum.

Steve is humming a song as he slips off his jacket and reaches for his tie. His hand freezes on the knot, though, when he glances at Bucky. He’s leaning against the door, idly fingering the key in his hand as he looks to Steve with hooded eyes. He hopes it looks like an invitation.

He must think it is, too. “I’m still married, Buck.”

“Not technically,” Bucky scolds. Steve knows what the situation is now. “You know they’ve been together. Nothin’ wrong with this, Steve.”

Bucky’s bluffing. It’s not like he could possibly know if they have, but he would bet they have. Steve makes a face, though, and Bucky realizes he must think they have, too. And if they can, well, then Bucky can –

“Come here,” Bucky whispers, stepping forward to meet Steve halfway.

Their teeth clink when they lean in, but Bucky fixes the angle and clutches at Steve’s shirt to keep him right where he is. He’s nearly dizzy with how good Steve feels against him, his lips soft and tasting of the beer he drank earlier. Steve’s hand runs through his hair, undoing the pomade oil Bucky had spent so much time perfecting.

Bucky breaks apart and laughs into Steve’s neck, out of breath and in disbelief. Something about the way that Steve’s hands smooth over his skin so delicately makes Bucky sober up and whisper, “I only want to do this if you want to.”

Steve is quiet for a few heartbreaking moments.

“I don’t want your pity, Steve.” Bucky clenches his eyes shut and tries to breathe right. All he can smell is Steve, though, and it’s intoxicating. It nearly makes Bucky want to give in and take whatever pity Steve will give him. He doesn’t, though, and only fists Steve’s shirt harder.

“Bucky,” Steve says slowly. “It’s not pity. You have to know that by now. I want this.”

Bucky looks up to Steve’s face. He’s serious.

“I want you,” Steve says, voice quieter and deeper.

It only seems right to push forward and kiss Steve. He almost can’t believe his words, but with the way that Steve kisses back, Bucky believes him. Bucky wants him too. Always has.

Steve gets him pushed back into the door, his body hunched over Bucky’s and his hands roaming Bucky’s body. Bucky’s scared to touch him at first, but eventually he gets a solid grip on him and everything melts away. It’s just the two of them, and it always has been, and Bucky knows how to act around him no matter what.

Steve’s mouth on his neck takes Bucky by surprise. He knocks the back of his head against the door and breathes heavily through his mouth. The hot press of Steve’s tongue on his skin makes Bucky feel a little like he’s on fire, but it’s when Steve’s hand casually slides down Bucky’s chest and over the bulge in his pants that Bucky whimpers.

“Steve, you’re fucking – ” Bucky can’t even finish his sentence because he’s grabbing Steve and slotting their lips together.

The hand touching him starts to make way on opening his pants, undoing the buttons carefully and then slipping in to touch Bucky. Cursing into Steve’s lips, Bucky jerks into the touch. He’s imagined it before, some half-baked fantasy at his worst or with his hands on himself in the shower, but he never thought it would feel this good. Steve’s slow, teasing motions make Bucky curse in pleasure and pray he doesn’t ruin things before they even properly start.

It only seems fair that Bucky return the favor. His hands feel like they’re shaking as he blindly reaches for Steve’s pants and works them open, pausing every few seconds to lose himself in what Steve’s doing. He eventually gets what he wants, his hand wrapped around Steve, thumb tracing the pre-come on the head. Steve makes a choked noise at the motion and breathes hotly onto Bucky’s skin.

They work in tandem, moaning quietly into each other’s necks. Bucky knows they need to be even quieter, but he can’t help the noises he’s making. He barely manages to hold in a moan when Steve makes a choked noise and comes all over Bucky’s hand.

Steve’s hand isn’t moving anymore, and Bucky is desperately trying to get friction so he can get off too, but then Steve breathes out, “Bucky, can I – I mean, fuck, I don’t know how to – ”

“You want to fuck me?” Bucky asks bluntly, mostly surprised with how forward Steve is. He always imagined he’d have to do all the work (and he wasn’t ever going to complain about that either) since he was the experienced one, but everything is so much better knowing how much Steve wants it. And Bucky can tell, especially since the proof is in Bucky’s hand, hard and straining.

Steve somehow manages to blush and shrug. “I mean, only if you want to. We can do whatever you want.”

“I want that,” Bucky assures him, laughing breathily. “Definitely. If you think you’re still up for it.”

Steve smiles shyly, face still red. Bucky dumbly realizes Steve’s pants are still tented.

They finish undressing, unselfconsciously slipping out of their clothes and finding their way to the bed after Steve retrieves the tin of petroleum from the bathroom. Bucky finds himself on his back, staring up at Steve above him, his body completely different from how it used to look. Instead of bony arms, they’re now hard and muscled, and instead of the sharp juts of his ribs, Bucky glides his hands experimentally over Steve’s abs. He never looked down on how Steve looked before, not like all the dames who ignored him on dates, but he doesn’t mind the new version of Steve.

With a hint of sadness in his eyes, Steve traces the outline of a scar on Bucky’s chest. Bucky wants to recoil from the touch, chest suddenly tight with the shame of his body, and the marks on it that Bucky can’t even remember how he got. Steve smiles at him, though, and kisses his skin like it’s nothing, like Bucky isn’t actually dirty.

When Steve pushes in after shakily prepping Bucky with a few fingers, nervously laughing as he tucked Bucky’s leg into his chest, he goes still and is unmoving.

“Jesus, Steve, you gotta – ” Bucky starts to say when Steve finally snaps into motion, his hips gingerly moving.

The gentle motions are short-lived, though, because Steve takes Bucky’s frustrated growl as encouragement and gets a little rougher. Bucky’s head falls back onto the pillow as he chokes on a moan and tangles his hands in the sheets. He’s never let another man do this to him, no matter how curious he was. It was always the other way around. Now, though, he’s thankful he waited so patiently because Steve is perfect.

When Bucky comes, Steve swallows his groan by kissing Bucky, their lips sloppily moving over each other as Steve works a hand on Bucky. His eyes are closed so tightly, hands scrabbling to find Steve’s and sink his nails into his skin. Steve follows after him, whole body stilling when he does. Bucky watches the blissful look on his face and Bucky wants to tell him how beautiful he looks and how much he loves him but he settles on a sloppy kiss instead.

***

On Bucky’s wedding day, Steve hauls him to the bathroom and kisses him senseless against the sink ten minutes before the ceremony. Bucky doesn’t think anyone notices.

***

Steve and Bucky are sharing their ratty couch, the two of them leaning together as they sleepily listen to the radio. It wasn’t too long ago that they got back from Peggy and Angie’s apartment. They had prepared a meal for Steve’s birthday and then presented him with a cake that Bucky had helped with. They’re back in their apartment across the hall, the two of them carefully slipping inside for the night.

Now, the fireworks are loud, but Bucky relaxes into Steve’s touch, even glancing out the window to see a flurry of colors light up the dark sky. He nudges Steve and gestures to the window, and the two of them watch for a few minutes.

It took a while, but things finally seem settled. Bucky and Angie are married, and supposedly living in the apartment that Steve stays in. Their neighbors in the building all love them and think their friendships are the truest they’ve ever seen. The four of them have even managed to become friends, spending more nights than not in each other’s apartments cooking and laughing and being themselves.

It’s not perfect, though. They still have to sneak around, scared someone will eventually catch on, and they still have fights and they still fret over what could happen if they were caught. Bucky doesn’t mind the cons, though, not when he has Steve with him, soft and loving at his side as the fireworks outside pop loudly.

“Do you think this all would’ve happened if I wouldn’t have kissed you at your wedding?” Bucky asks quietly.

Steve smiles. “I think it would’ve,” he tells Bucky firmly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve hums. “I loved you before you kissed me. I always did.”

Bucky frowns. “Really?”

“I think that’s why it didn’t work well with Peggy. I was always in love with you, so it wouldn’t have ever worked.”

Bucky smirks at him. “Sure you’re just not being sappy?”

Steve shakes his head. “Definitely not.”

Charmed, Bucky leans in and kisses Steve, hands smoothing over the fabric of his shirt. It’s not a desperate kiss, Bucky scared he’ll never get another chance, and it’s not a sad kiss, Bucky scared he’s messed everything up. It’s sweet and practiced; the same kiss Bucky gives Steve every day now. It fills Bucky’s chest with warmth every time, though.

“Happy birthday, Steve.”


End file.
